


Mahal makes many beautiful things

by Hexes



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dirty Talk, I've been working on this for almost a year please help, Intersex, M/M, Piercings, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 13:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexes/pseuds/Hexes
Summary: Dwalin and Bilbo begin a dance around one another that leads them closer into each other's orbit. Bilbo still fancies Thorin, and Dwalin is more than happy to orchestrate an encounter.Intersex Bilbo.And there's a lewd limerick.I've been working on this for nearly a year, and I'm stuck. I'm still trying, but fair warning that I may eventually give up (maybe also cry a bit).Un-beta'd.





	1. Chapter 1

Bilbo wasn't entirely sure when it started. Perhaps when Dwalin had appeared so unexpectedly at his door and then proceeded to eat Bilbo's whole supper. The dwarrow had stricken an extremely intimidating figure, axes at his back, tattoos trailing over his arms as he bowed, putting himself at Bilbo’s _service_ . And then how viciously he had bolted down the crispy fish, _caressing_ the lip of the of cup of mild mead as he stared at Bilbo like he was the next course in the meal. Or maybe it was the peculiar look of knowing that Balin had thrown at his brother when he sat at the table and ordered a spot of supper.

It might have started when Thorin had disentangled himself from Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur after Bilbo had accidentally strewn them all over his welcome mat. The beautiful dwarrow had risen with rather a lot of grace for someone who had just fallen through a door, and fixed Bilbo with his moonlight blue eyes full of venom, pointedly _not_ placing himself at Bilbo’s service.

Poor Bilbo apologized himself breathless, and eventually, Thorin acquiesced to look shrewd rather than stern. Though, that may have had to do with the wolfish look that he exchanged with Dwalin, more than the hobbit's desperate pleas for forgiveness.

Indeed, the sweet music the Company had played had enchanted Bilbo entirely out of his wits, and the bone-rattling song had nestled itself deep in his breast. Their music had bewitched him, but the glittering of his unexpected guests’ eyes in the dark parlour had intrigued him greatly. He had heard tell of the Dwarrow having incredible eyesight in the dark, but this? Their eyes seemed to glow like a cat’s when they catch the light at night. And it seemed that Dwalin's gleaming eyes lingered on Bilbo.

Or perhaps it had started when had come scampering up to the Green Dragon Inn, desperate to catch the rowdy group before they left him behind. He had been in such a rush to catch his soon-to-be-companions that he had come dreadfully unprepared, a fact that he mentioned (and Gandalf, bless the old coot, had at least partially amended). Though he had asked to turn back, Dwalin had offered him his own hood, to keep the sun off of poor Bilbo's neck, and smiled mysteriously when the garment rather overwhelmed the hobbit's frame.

While Thorin had remained aloof, the other dwarrow had become fast friends. Affectionate, and talkative, they always disappeared whenever Dwalin slowed his pony to step beside Bilbo. While they talked of anything and everything, the warrior's gaze settled on Bilbo’s skin like a physical touch, sometimes so intimately that the poor little hobbit found himself brilliantly scarlet in the cheeks.

But whenever it had started, it truly began when they reached Rivendell.


	2. Chapter 2

Bilbo was _immensely_ enjoying the hospitality of the Last Homely House. Indeed, the foodstuff was beyond anything they had supped upon on the road, and indeed a good deal better than the provisions pilfered from the troll's cave, those few days ago. Most impressive, aside from soft beds, and indeed, delicious food (for it _was_ scrumptious, the vague mutterings of the dwarrow about too little meat aside), was the _baths._

Oh, certainly, the Company had had the opportunity to freshen themselves in streams, brooks, and as the Valar knew, rain, but that was all it was: Freshening. Baths were another matter _entirely_ , particularly in the Last Homely House. The baths were as luxuriant as the rest of the valley; they wrapped guests in comfort, and pleasure. Warm water was always to hand. There were finely milled soaps, flannels with just the right amount of scrub, oils for beards and furs, tureens for rinsing silky suds, and bless: Towels. Bath sheets larger even than Dwalin, who towered over Bilbo by at least a foot.

As soothing as the main bathhouse was, Bilbo had asked if, perhaps, he could take baths in his suite, which had been given to him for his private use. Indeed, one incidence of Thorin coming in for a soak while Bilbo was meticulously grooming the fur on his feet had been more than enough. Bilbo had quite forgotten himself for a moment and sneaked a longing glance at the ( _already nude_?!) king. Thankfully, he'd been distracted when Dwalin had ambled in, shucking clothes every which way. Squeaking a flimsy excuse, Bilbo had tugged his bathrobe tighter and fled the main bathing chamber. He had yet to return.

Though he was both a stubborn Took and a gentle-hobbit that shuddered to appear rude, Bilbo had noticed that the dwarrow looked… _different_ … between their stout ( _hairy_ !) legs than any Hobbit with whom he had bathed, tussled, or fondled. _All thirteen_ of them seemed to have the same set of tools! Certainly, there were hobbits possessed of just plough and stone, and others that had nothing but a fertile valley, but as with Bilbo, many were blessed by Yavanna with surpassing fertility: Able to both sow, and grow fauntlings, just as the rich earth of their Shire was able to seed and produce. While desperate to not be rude by bathing apart from the Company, he was also loathe to make them uncomfortable with his seeming differences (and potentially be caught out staring at certain of the Company). ‘ _Perhaps they are no different_ ,’ he thought while gleefully cleaning beneath his nails again, ‘ _and I simply cannot tell, for their thick pelts._ ’

The good food was doing wonderful things for everyone's moods; even Thorin, with his surpassing wordiness, was paring down his monologuing. Dwalin’s brilliant coal-fire eyes glittered with amusement when Fíli and Kíli challenged all and sundry to bawdy ballad duels. Bilbo, quite to the surprise of the Company, was a deft tongue at dirty limericks, though suffered to put them to song, as his lilting tenor was often drownt by the heavy bass of multiple dwarrow raising their voices as one. While Bilbo was perfectly capable of turning a phrase to elicit a blush in a fair Hobbit, the dwarrow were _irascible_! By the Stars, even the elves could be quite tawdry, and Bilbo was often left pink in cheeks, and interested betwixt his legs by the time everyone drifted to bed.

Nearly a week after their arrival at the Last Homely House, and just before tea, Bilbo decided that a bit of a wade was in order, before retiring to the library to read and learn.  Slipping away from the Company was easy - dwarrow may have the ears for sounding mineral deposits, but they were hopelessly deaf to the simple magic of fleet feet. Strolling happily in the lazy sunshine, Bilbo headed toward the river, searching out a gentle eddy that was sheltered behind a little ruckus of rock. Stripping of the finely mended clothes, and folding them neatly to the side, Bilbo began to wade into the sleepily swirling water, his warm skin welcoming the touch of the pleasantly cool river. Sitting nearer the bank, he had just begun to lean back for a bit of basking when he heard the unmistakable cacophony of dwarfish boots. Quickly turning as to obscure his fertility, he laid nearly entirely on his front, looking up to Dwalin's sparkling eyes.

“Saw y’slipping away, Master Burglar - come to steal a swim?”

Bilbo bristled slightly, for he was still a touch sore about the whole _burglary_ business.

“I am afraid, Master Dwarf, that Hobbits are not in the habit of _swimming_ , per sé; in fact, I would posit that even my penchant for a deep wade is rather a bit… uncommon.”

Dwalin's eyes glittered with mirth, sparkling like a hot forge, “I would posit that you, yourself are rather a bit… uncommon… amongst your kinsfolk.”

Bilbo merely nodded assent, as he tried to look most everywhere but Dwalin, as the dwarf had begun undressing. Bilbo's eyes were caught, however, by a flash of light, as the sun had glanced off of a set of silver rings, clasping a shimmering feldspar that were looped _through_ Dwalin's nipples. Bilbo gasped - he had managed to miss those, during his furtive peeks at the dwarrow. Snapping his eyes up at Dwalin's chuckle, he quickly glanced away, feeling guilty for ogling the poor dwarf.

“My kinsfolk and I adorn ourselves wherever we might with jewels and metals; they are of stone as are we,” Bilbo had shyly glanced back just in time to see Dwalin pulling lightly at the rings, the corners of his mouth curling slightly “and it gives us pleasure.” Bilbo gasped again, and quickly averted his gaze as Dwalin began shucking his boots, and trousers.

“Ah,” he began, feeling both shy, and curious, “we of the Shire have no such customs. We… we preserve, I suppose, the bodies we're given, nourishing them, and using our fertility.” Dwalin hummed, standing to his full height, in all of his nude glory. Bilbo was still taking surpassing care to _not_   _stare_ , as it was considered rude. Though, he was forming the impression that staring was only considered rude amongst hobbits, because he was quite certain that he could feel the weight of Dwalin's gaze again.

Dwalin grinned somewhat wickedly, for he thought the blush staining Bilbo's round, smooth cheeks was quite delightful. He wanted to see how red he could make the little one, but decided that his other piercings would wait for a while, yet.

“Come,” Dwalin enjoyed the deepening red of the Hobbit’s ears, and neck, “you look tense. Let me soothe you,” and plucking a boulder from the bank with no more effort than it would take Bilbo to pick a lily, he waded a little ways in, and situated the stone how he saw fit.

Dwalin caught the edge of Bilbo's sight and motioned him to come and rest his back against the rock, between his legs. Slowly, and frankly, against his better judgement, Bilbo complied, nestling himself between the dwarf’s strong (‘ _and so hairy_ !’ Bilbo thought privately) legs, pointedly avoiding peeking at Dwalin’s sex. Crossing his own legs rather tensely, he glanced over his shoulder at the dwarf above him (‘ _who has such business being so tall_?!’ he thought somewhat tersely).

“Here, now,” Dwalin cupped water into his hands and poured it down Bilbo's shoulders and back, “relax, Master Baggins, you are with a friend.”

Bilbo wasn't sure that he _could_ relax, by the Stars, for Dwalin was now stroking his neck, as one might a well-loved pet. Slowly though, Dwalin's fingers became firmer, his touch deeper, his callouses rough, but soothing. Bilbo's head lolled to the side, then back against the rock, his curls tickling Dwalin's powerful thighs. As Dwalin's fingers located a knot and pressed, Bilbo moaned, his legs falling lax, his arms floating gently in the water.

“Do that again, Master Burglar,” Dwalin breathed, pressing into Bilbo's shoulders. And he did, heedless of how lascivious he sounded. Dwalin's technique changed, strokes beginning to creep up Bilbo's neck and turning feathery as he began to run stout fingers through Bilbo's curls, rubbing and gently scratching his scalp. The knuckles of one hand brushed the tip of Bilbo's ear, and he keened softly, feeling his plough rise, and his valley begin to weep.

“Dwalin! Oh, don't! I - that… those are… terribly sensitive. I - I apologize!” He made to move away; he wasn't precisely sure what he was going to do, but it involved being absolutely anywhere but here.

Dwalin's left hand settled on Bilbo's shoulder pinning him down, while his right began to truly torment the shy hobbit. “No need to apologize, little one,” he ran the wide, flat edge of his nail along the point of Bilbo's ear and down to the lobe, where he pinched gently “no need to steal this moment away from us…” he released Bilbo's shoulder as soon as he had turned his face into Dwalin's knee, muttering, blushing, and squeezing his thighs together, as though, somehow, that would relieve the aching in his loins.

“Such a tasty little morsel, aren't you?” Dwalin learned forward and sucked the tip of Bilbo's left ear, rasping his tongue along the furl, delighting in strangled moan that escaped Bilbo’s throat. “So sweet…” his voice a bare whisper as his right hand trailed down Bilbo's shoulder to stroke his unadorned nipples. “I would see you undone beneath me, your sweet body shivering, your fine voice singing,” Dwalin slipped down into the water, fast as a cat, he began to lift Bilbo out of the water, intent on leaning him back on the rock, so as to feast upon his desire.

“Ah! No!” Bilbo began to squirm, what if Dwalin thought him unnatural? The idea of leaving this interlude unfulfilled was surpassed in terror only by the idea that the Company may be told, and they would all turn him aside. Bilbo's hands flew to cover his fertility.

“Why not, Master Baggins?” Dwalin's glittering eyes were mining out Bilbo's resistance as he gently stroked the hollow of one ankle, and the bend of the opposite knee. “Shy of your size?” Dwalin shivered slightly, for the hobbit's slight stature was undeniably arousing.

“No - I mean… yes. But no: I - I mean that… I do not think the Valar, ah… made us from the same mold?” Bilbo flushed almost down to his nipples, and Dwalin’s member jerked to full attention. Dwalin began kissing Bilbo's left knee as his right hand crept up the other leg, strong fingers kneading as he went.

“Mahal makes many beautiful things,” Dwalin's voice took a smoky quality that he had seen chase shivers down Bilbo's back. “Yavanna was his wife, and I doubt that she has _ever_ sown anything but beauty,” he moaned, for the luscious scent of Bilbo's arousal had broken through the hobbit's trembling fingers. “Your scent alone…” Dwalin trailed off into an inarticulate purr. Bilbo shuddered at the sound, his wits cheerfully abandoning him in his moment of need. He was so wet, so hard, and so _utterly_ worried.

“Let me, Bilbo,” Dwalin rasped, his beard scraping the soft flesh of the hobbit's silky thigh. Bilbo jerked - it was the first time Dwalin had used his given name, and it thrilled him.

“I am different from you…” he slowly drew his hands away, revealing his fertility to the ravenous dwarf between his legs. Dwalin gasped - the Hobbit had not been exaggerating when he had said he was different from himself. Where he had expected a delicious little set of stones, there instead was a fertile valley crowned with a riot of rolling, golden curls, the top most apex of the lips soaring gracefully into a _very_ pretty cock, pouring slick nectar from its entrance. Bilbo began to get nervous with the extended inspection, and tried to slide a hand back over himself. His wrist was snatched in a firm grip, a displeased growl sounding from between his thighs.

“You're not stealing this view from me, lad…” Dwalin couldn't tear how eyes from the throbbing cock, the weeping slit. “You are a treasure of treasures…” he leaned forward, nosing the curls, lapping at the soaking entrance, utterly delighted by the keening wail that rose from the little burglar’s throat. “Delicious, as well.” He maintained his grip on Bilbo's delicate wrist, sneaking his other hand up, surprising his little lover with a thick, dextrous finger slipping into the sopping entrance of Bilbo's pretty little pussy.

Bilbo was babbling. Dwalin decided that this was an enchanting departure from the hobbit's usual eloquence. So, he decided to swallow down the length of his lover's cock, and reveled in the completely inarticulate cry that followed. He focused, running his tongue around the head, playing with the frenulum that he would dearly love to see pierced a hoop of gold, held closed with sunstone. Bilbo appeared to be regaining coherence, but it also seemed to be quite limited:

“No! Oh! Oh, Dwalin!” Dwalin decided that was a good word for Bilbo to be capable of articulating. “Oh, I can't! I'm - I!” He decided that probably meant orgasm was fast approaching. He hummed deep in his chest, turning his hand palm up, and curling his finger inward. Bilbo screamed. A rush of seed poured into Dwalin's waiting mouth, and a flood of slick pooled into his cupped palm and he nearly came off, himself. Standing and bringing his soaked hand down to his own length, he spread the mess over his aching erection.

“Want you…” he purred, bracing a palm on Bilbo's right shoulder, wanting to sink into that weeping valley between the hobbit's perfectly formed thighs.

“We mustn't!” Bilbo gasped, “I… I don't know if I'll quicken from you…” and Dwalin found himself very nearly coming apart again. “I… let me return the favour you bestowed upon me?” But Bilbo was already sliding down the rock, letting out a squeak of surprise when he reached eye-level with Dwalin's impressive shaft. “My, you're big…”

And what red-blooded dwarf didn't like hearing that? He flexed his hips impatiently, and immediately regretted his impertinence, as the shock of being swallowed down so deeply, so quickly wasn't _entirely_ pleasant. Leave it to a hobbit to be quite so capable swallowing large meals. He huffed a deep sigh of pleasure when Bilbo pulled back, and ‘ _Mahal, but isn't he talented_?!’

Dwalin rested a hand on Bilbo's shoulder, the other tangling in honey gold curls, and tugging gently.

“Such a clever little tongue you have, Bilbo-” said little tongue had just darted into the slit of his cock, fiddling with the ring that looped through the underside of the head. “So greedy for it?” he braced the shoulder, firmed his grip on silky curls, and have a gentle, experimental thrust. Bilbo relaxed his throat, leaning into the steady pressure of Dwalin’s hands and glanced up from under his thick lashes. “I'm happy to feed you, love” he worked himself slowly in the sucking, wet heat of Bilbo’s lush mouth. “Keep you well fed, keep you wet and wanting-” Bilbo moaned, his recently spent sex twitching in vague interest. Dwalin's pace stuttered: “Keep you full!” His grip tightened “Keep you…” orgasm seized him, and he trembled with it, pulling out just slightly to make a mess on his hobbit's face before sliding back into the blazing heat of his mouth.  

He withdrew slowly, enjoying the look Bilbo’s glistening lips dragging over his sensitive skin. Gathering the hobbit into his arms, he went to a sunny patch on the grass and laid down, his arm curling around his new lover as they dozed in the sunshine.


	3. Chapter 3

Dwalin prided himself on being a tactician. One does not become a brilliant warrior, after all, without being patient and  _ observant _ . And so, Dwalin continued to observe the manner in which Bilbo and Thorin interacted. 

His king was, of course, puffed with self-importance, and Bilbo was perfectly willing to take a pin to that ego every now and again. Which was all well and good. Except that he had been fucking his cousin long enough to recognize that  _ particular  _ glimmer in Thorin’s eye, and he'd been paying enough attention to the little things his newly minted lover did in response. Chuckling to himself, he decided that, perhaps, some  _ tactics _ were in order. 

That evening's bawdy ballad duel was coming nicely, the Company enjoying themselves thoroughly by the time Bilbo got up to spin a yarn. 

 

She'll right rob yeh sonny

She's got the good coney

That East Farthing lass

Yeh cannae give her a pass

But the sauce: t’ain’t honey!

 

Dwalin was put  _ thoroughly _ in mind of  _ Bilbo’s _ cunny, and decided to make this known to his lovely little companion by snatching a wrist and pulling him into his lap. Bilbo squawked somewhat irritably, but quickly subsided into giggles. The mead had warmed his blood, and Dwalin was scraping the flat of his nail along the inside of Bilbo’s wrist, tickling in the most arousing fashion. 

The Company carried on with their merrymaking, barely paying half a glance to the warrior and the burglar. But Thorin looked somewhat thunderous when Dwalin met his eyes. Bilbo was beginning to squirm in Dwalin's lap, and Dwalin decided to play rough and tumble with his king. Pinning Bilbo’s knees to his thighs, spreading their legs to Thorin’s gaze, he licked the tip of Bilbo’s ear while looking Thorin right in the eye. This caused a number of things to happen simultaneously. 

Bilbo’s hand flew to his mouth to stifle himself, rocking his body farther back into Dwalin, who rumbled a growl that scared number of backs ramrod straight. Thorin stood so abruptly that his chair teetered alarmingly, glaring white hot death at the powerful warrior. And Fíli, correctly assuming that a brawl was coming, sprang up, as well.

“Ale!” he shouted, in a vain attempt to cover the lascivious purr coming from Dwalin. “Let us away to the kitchen!” At which point he enacted the single best impression of a herding dog that ever there was, and somehow managed to get ten dwarrow up and out the door in mere moments. He plucked at Thorin’s sleeve; “Uncle -” he was interrupted by the king aboutface marching from the room like a man going to the gallows. Fíli turned to glance at the other two members of the Company, flushed scarlet and scampered from the hall. 

“Dwalin!” Bilbo gasped, “you've gone and upset the king!”

“Aye, little one,” he agreed, fiddling with the buttons that protected his beautiful hobbit’s modesty “upset him that he's not the one, doing this now!” he trailed away into a pleased rumble, wrapping his hand around Bilbo’s pretty length. Bilbo made that little mewling noise that he did when he was impatient for Dwalin to fuck him, shaking his head. 

“No -” he gasped as Dwalin shoved his trousers part way down, “he couldn't want me -” he whined, feeling Dwalin struggling with the laces on his trousers behind him, “must be you…” Dwalin chuckled, curling his fingers along the curve of Bilbo’s luscious ass. 

“Forge no, lad. He's already had me,” Bilbo gasped a strangled noise of curiosity, and Dwalin hummed appreciatively. “Still wet and open for me?” Dwalin had known this would likely be the case, given that he had hitched the hobbit’s knees over his elbows, fingered the tiny little hole below his weeping slit until Bilbo demanded a good shagging, and then happily proceeded to pound the hobbit into wailing incoherence, all just before dinner. Bilbo made a noise that might have been assent. 

Dwalin ran his length along the wet opening of Bilbo’s soaking valley, slicking himself for the main event. Dandling the hobbit in his lap, he lifted Bilbo up. 

“He'd fuck you blind, little love,” he aligned himself and slammed home in one stroke to prevent Bilbo arguing. “He's like a rabbit, little one - goes for hours if you let him.” Bilbo whined a vague ‘no’, which quickly dissolved into what might have been ‘Dwalin’ as the dwarf slid a finger into the hobbit’s sopping pussy, reveling in the feel of himself through the skin that separated his fertility from his lovely ass. “And I'd be there every moment, love.”

Bilbo choked out a warning just in time for Dwalin to catch his spend. Standing, he laid Bilbo face first onto the table.

“Think what he must feel like, my little one,” he braced Bilbo by the hips, smearing the hobbit's release onto his skin, and thrusting slightly too harshly for the hobbit’s state. “He's nearly as big as I am - pierced along his length, like rungs on a ladder,” he yanked Bilbo back onto his length “feels like dying-” Bilbo was whining, wild with overstimulation and need, arching against Dwalin's intense grip. “Feels like life-” he came apart. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's like... 600 words of stuff that happens between the last scene and this one, and I just can't fucking make them work, because words are hard, and I'm just gonna spare everyone that craggy collection of crap. I dunno. Maybe this will be like my Predator fic that dropped my ass about seven years ago before politely asking for a rewrite and like two more pages of drivel before tapping back out. Shrug. Here's some porn.   
> Peace, y'all.

Dwalin was feeling… mischievous. Perhaps  _ impatient _ . He knew what his little lover wanted, even if the proper hobbit blushed, obfuscated, and clenched his perfect little knees together. Prim as the hobbit may be, Dwalin's none-too-gentle, rather insistent coaxing had wrung scrumptious cries from Bilbo's delicious mouth. 

He approached Thorin after what had been increasingly referred to as The Hug. They'd been idle at Beorn’s long enough that Thorin was getting around perfectly fine, if a wee bit more cautious than usual. Dwalin was ravenous for it. 

“You know,” he began, luring Thorin's iris-blue eyes. “He wants you.”

Thorin jerked back, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a resolutely “uninterested” line. 

“Of whom do you speak?” Thorin's voice was crisp, dismissive. “I have never known you to speak in riddles, Dwalin. Now is hardly the time to begin.”

Dwalin stalked forward, acutely aware of Thorin's lack of appropriate dresswear. He grinned, crowding Thorin into a corner. ‘ _Poor thing_ ,’ Dwalin mused silently, ‘ _must be in a right state to lose the_ _tactical advantage so_ easily _._ ’ _Easy_ was not a word often associated with Thorin Oakenshield, Once and Future King of Erebor, Blood of Durin. Dwalin grinned like a wolf at a rabbit, clutching a hip in a viscous grip. 

“Bilbo.”

Thorin gasped, jerking back again. Poor little rabbit had only just begun to realize the dire situation in which he found himself. Thorin brought up a hand to land a peevish strike at Dwalin’s cheek. His wrist was snatched and pinned none-too-gently against the wall. 

“I wrung it out of his pretty little lips myself, Thorin.”

Dwalin grinned. 

Thorin glowered at him. 

His sometimes lover, who, as near as he could tell, had been  _ fucking _ another. Another whom he, himself, greatly desired. And now Dwalin had him crammed into a corner. And he was making that  _ sound _ that he did, the one that  _ unfailingly _ made Thorin think of how Dwalin's cock  _ twitched _ when he spent. And he was talking about the third party that he was fucking, the third party Thorin wished  _ he _ were fucking. 

“He cries for you, sometimes, when I whisper to him to think of you.” Dwalin's free hand was burrowing into Thorin's trousers as he began to lick a path from Thorin's jaw to his ear lobe. “he keens, his sweet little body  _ twitching _ while I take him in your stead.” 

Thorin's hips thrust forward, grinding against Dwalin's damnably clever fingers.

“Is that so?” He breathed, defiantly. “Does he beg for me while he takes you?” Thorin was feeling somewhat mutinous in light of the revelation that not only had he been wanting to bed the little hobbit, Bilbo had wanted Thorin to bed him, and yet Dwalin had been the one to deliver the dicking. 

“He begs for you.” Dwalin dropped the imprisoned wrist, and instead grabbed Thorin's knees, hefting the proud dwarrow up, into the corner, the crook of his knees cradled in the bends of Dwalin's elbows. “He only ever makes demands of me.” Dwalin ground up against Thorin's still clad bum, and mouthing the barely exposed column of neck available to him. 

“You,” he whispered, wild with jealousy, “he begs.” Dwalin nipped hard enough to _hurt_ , and adopted a tone much closer to Bilbo's, though breathy, and strangled with lust: “Oh! _Thorin_! There! Oh, there, _yes_ , there, there, there, _oh,yes,there_!” 

Dwalin was coming apart, the memory of Bilbo's weeping valley, his bobbing cock, and  _ Mahal _ , his sweet, luscious, beautiful ass, and Valar, Thorin writhing against him,  _ whimpering _ , hard against his stomach. Thorin was overcome with visions of himself buried deep inside the little burglar, thoughts of Dwalin fucking the little creature until Bilbo cried his out release, then begged mercy on his overstimulated body. Thorin thought he might deny that mercy, taking over and grinding into the beautiful little body until Bilbo  _ cried _ . 

“Is he tight?” Thorin asked, beyond propriety, “is he loud?”

“Tighter than you'd want - you have start him slow, his little hole stretched so wide, so pink…” Dwalin's pace was stuttering as he hooked a leg about his waist so that he could sneak a hand back into Thorin’s trousers, “he mewls, whines, begs, demands, purrs… he loves being given a bit of rough.” He pulled back from his king’s neck, catching his eye “Begs you to stop, even though he's gagging for it...”

Thorin gasped his next question: “His mouth?”

“Like going to the halls of our ancestors - he loves to swallow, looks like he can't get enough.” Dwalin was gasping too, near the end of his proclamation.

“How have you had him?” Thorin had worked a hand into Dwalin's beard and was tugging just  _ so  _ as Dwalin did that little trick he did with his wrist. 

“Every way he'd let me, cousin. On his back, his side, his front, once dandling him on my lap at Elrond's high table, once against a tree with your sleeping roll just in sight. I pinned his knee to his shoulder and fucked him so hard that I had to cover his mouth so you wouldn't hear him screaming your name-” he stopped short, gasping at the feeling of Thorin's sharp teeth cutting a small wound on his neck. “I want to see you fuck him - want to hear him crying for you as you fill him…” Dwalin found himself incapable of talking any longer, overcome as he was by the thought of his two beautiful lovers writhing together. 

The two of them rutted a few moments longer, Dwalin holding Thorin against the wall as the older dwarrow released, then rubbed against his pliant body until he peaked, himself. He sank down, releasing Thorin's legs and resting his forehead against his cousin's. 

“Don't make me wait any longer, Thorin. He's mad for you; just can't believe you'd want him - thinks he's too different from you.” Dwalin politely forgot to mention that Bilbo was  _ quite _ different from the  _ both _ of them. He had been entraining the fantasy of one of them buried hilt deep the hobbit's gorgeous cunt while the other took his luscious ass. Thorin dropped his head back against the barn wall, and took a deep breath. 

“Bring him to me tonight, that I may change his mind.” 

“As my king commands.”

**Author's Note:**

> Phwee... I've been stuck with this one scene (which I didn't publish) for months. I do have like... a ridiculously complex plot to go with the porn, but it refuses to manifest on the page. So... Yeah. Comments with constructive criticism, or gentle prodding are most welcome. 
> 
> Health, wealth, and happiness, y'all.


End file.
